I Skip the Little Ones
by Triannakumira
Summary: For the Royai 100 Themes Challenge: In the FMA world, we only see the big days. Let's bring the focus back to the little ones. With some hints of canon couples. Please Read and review, it really does aid my ability to write and give you better stories!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Other then the above… I'm trying to make each one of these like scrapped scenes, instead of working on scenes on scenes that have, in my opinion, been over-fanfic'ed (Not that there's anything wrong with that). I'll probably break this rule (some of the Royai moments are TOO good to be left alone) but I'll try not to. I will try to update regularly, but it IS test season, so I will make no guarantees until the end of this month, at least. Now that I'm done boring you, please read and enjoy!! **

Theme 1: Military Personnel

A War of Innocence

Roy Mustang suppressed a sigh as he watched the stern-faced woman lecture his team, among other squadrons, in the small auditorium at Eastern headquarters. She had been sent by Central to review sexual harassment policies with all the military personnel in Eastern, meaning that there would be several of these meetings throughout the next two weeks. While Mustang's men were not obliged to go to all of them, Mustang himself was. Today's was an impossibly boring lecture, and Mustang, though relieved to not be doing paperwork, had reached a level of boredom that could only be described as _impressive_. He inconspicuously looked around the room. Most of the other soldiers in attendance were also not paying much heed to the woman's lecture. Sure, they were all sitting up straight, eyes forward, but he could tell that their attention had wandered.

"-rassment is defined as any inappropriate touching, comments…"

Something brushed against his hand, and he glanced that way. First Lieutenant Hawkeye was sitting to his right, and it was she who had gently touched his hand. He has been unconsciously playing with one of the buttons on his uniform, and Hawkeye's touch had effectively stopped him.

_Riza, Riza, Riza Hawkeye,_ Mustang thought as a source for amusement came into his mind. When the lecturer wasn't looking, he reached out, quick as a snake, and poked her in the side.

Her reaction was interesting. The indomitable Lieutenant jumped all of three centimeters, squirmed a negligible amount, and then shot him her notorious death glare. Mustang gazed at the presenter innocently, ignoring her gaze. Hawkeye turned back forward.

The second the strict Major something-or-other turned her back, he poked Hawkeye's side again. This time, only her eyebrow twitched. He tried not to grin; they had gotten into little poke wars like this when they were children, and he could remember always being the one to start the battles, goading her into playing, too, just like he was now. Of course, those battles had always been innocent, never involving the bloodshed and pain of … He put that from his mind. The period of their poke wars had been short, from a time before all the tragedy had started… Again, Mustang shrugged away the thought.

_Poke. Poke. Poke._

Even though the Lieutenant refused to look at him, refused to so much as twitch when he poked her, Mustang knew _exactly_ what she was thinking: _Don't do it, don't do it. I refuse to play his game. I will NOT poke him, I will not… I won't… That's it! I'm poking him!_

Mustang winced when she vengefully poked him, forcefully reminded that she wasn't like any of his polished-and-perfumed flings. He resisted the urge to rub the bruise now forming beneath his jacket.

_Poke. Poke. Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke…_

"…and MILITARY PERSONNEL should NOT participate in such juvenile GAMES, especially when confronted with VITAL INFORMATION!"

Mustang and Hawkeye turned back to the presenter. He face was beginning to turn red and she had her fists clenched to her sides.

Hawkeye rose smoothly from her seat. "I must apologize," she started formally. "The Colonel was simply reminding me that I had some important paperwork that needed to be filed. If you would excuse me…?" And with a salute, she left the auditorium.

Mustang watched her go, and then returned his attention to the presenter. "I'm sorry. What were you saying about information?" The corners of his mouth twitched towards a smirk as the Major sputtered angrily for a moment, and then returned to her lecture. He settled back in his chair, a slight frown quickly settling on his face. _Now what am I supposed to do? I never thought I'd wish for paper work again._


	2. Chapter 2

Theme 2: Gunshot

Mercy

The little stray dog – well, I suppose it was _my_ dog now – hiked his leg and began to pee against the wall. I reacted quickly, remembering how my maternal grandfather had trained dogs: _"When they're bad, use a loud noise because they're ears are good and it will scare them. And something moving fast, because dogs see movement better than stillness, right sweetheart? I use my gun."_

_Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang._

The metal beneath my hand felt solid, reliable, for about a millisecond. Today was not a good day to be firing a gun. Already, the horrors of war felt as if they had been creeping up on me today, threatening to overpower me, something I simply couldn't have. But with the final ringing gunshot, I was back in that God-forsaken desert.

_I was crouching in a dilapidated tower. A tank regiment had been through the area, so it was a miracle the tower was still standing. With each explosion the tower rocked. I found myself question the assessment of the tower given to me by that guy in Intelligence. What was his name? Huggs? Hughes? I hoped he gave me the right location._

_A large number of Ishbalan rebels had holed themselves into a still-intact house on the other side of the new, rubble-filled square. My assignment was to take them out. Mine, and mine alone. I grimly put my eye to the scope._

_A shadow moved, and I reacted without thought. _Bang!_ Recoil, pull back, reload, wait. A figure dressed in tan fell into my view, but I refused to look at the corpse._

_Another shadow moved, and I switched my focus to it. My finger twitched toward the trigger. Then I froze, unable to kill the person in my sight._

_It was a mother. A mother and her drowsing infant. "_How can I shoot _them?_ They can't even fight! They're just civilians!" _ My orders were to shoot every Ishbalan I saw, but I had been led to believe we were fighting against rebels only, not innocent civilians. My CO had even told me that they had moved all the civilians out of the area, and that I was to shoot anything that wasn't in Military Blues._

_As I knelt there, torn between my morality and my orders, my choice was taken from me. The building exploded, the nearby structures bursting into flame regardless of their stone construction. A man in white and blue stood in the clearing dust. I could barely see him and his long, black hair, but I could hear his laugh clearly over the screams and sounds of collapsing homes. It was a maniac's laugh. It seeped into my mind, making me irrationally afraid. (Later, I would learn that State Alchemists had joined the war, but at that point the explosion had confused me.)_

_I looked for the woman and her baby. The woman's clothing was aflame, and she screamed and tried to beat out the flames with her hand, but her desperate attempts only made the fire worse. Soon she was almost completely engulfed. The infant in her arms wailed as the heat climbed over his blankets._

_Setting my eye to the scope, I fired. _

_Twice._

My palm sweats around the cool metal, and I could feel the overpowering disgust creep up on me, the hollow emptiness that threatened to take my mind, my soul, whispering, "_You have no reason to shoot anyone but yourself, Riza Hawkeye. You are a murder. Murder. Murder. Murder."_

"_No,"_ I remind myself. _"I have a reason."_ And, unbidden, a face rises in my mind and beats those feeling off singlehanded. I square my shoulders and force my face blank, hoping that no one noticed my moment of weakness. For him, I must be strong.

"Bad dog," I tell the terrified puppy.


	3. Chapter 3

Theme 3: Battlefield

Mama always said that I'd lose my head if it wasn't sewn on tight enough.  (Yeah, that's the title)

Major Roy Mustang trudged across the recently-vacated battlefield, returning from one of the bloodiest fights in the last two days. Somewhere to his left, the sounds of screaming and explosions met his ears. He supposed it was Kimbley, or perhaps Armstrong, causing the ruckus. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.

A scuffling sound and a shout alerted him to someone behind him. Instinct took over. He turned on his heel, fingers snapping once.

As his attacker burst into flames, he realized something was wrong. His attacker was too small. Dwarves did not fare well in Ishbal, and this person wasn't proportioned like a dwarf would have been. The screaming figure fell, dropping something as her went. It was a small steel knife. Even as he watched, the hilt burned away, leaving nothing but the blade in the sand.

Something akin to horror swept over him. He… had… just… burned… _a little boy… who had a knife_. Suddenly the irony of it struck him. _He _was the _Flame Alchemist_ – for the people – trying to make this country better… and he had just _killed _a _child_.

A loud, maniacal laugh reached his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that it was _his_ laugh crackling around his ears. He couldn't stop laughing, but he didn't seem to care. "_A boy! ...the people…_ The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nose. _"Flame… It's all burning… burning…."_ The rocky sand, now suddenly much closer than it had been a moment before – he was sitting on his heels, only he didn't remember falling – pushed in on him; the towering building were caving in around him; the screams of the Ishbalans dying nearby were directed at him. "**Mustang!**" he could hear one in particular, a horribly familiar-sounding woman's voice. "**Major Mustang!**" He couldn't bear it anymore! Before he knew it, his hands were clutching the scalding-hot knife-blade, he could smell the cloth of his gloves beginning to burn away -! _These gloves!_ Those gloves on his hand, no, _his hands_, were responsible for it, for the little boy and for so many others, so many others whose faces were clear and blurred in his mind all at once, separate and together, crowding in his mind. If he could only be rid of them, his murdering hands, he could be free…! They must be gone! He set the hot metal against his wrist.

"**MAJOR!"** The woman's voice screeched at him. Someone tried to rip the blade from his hands, and he fought them, fought them, fought them -. Couldn't they see that he needed to get them off, he needed to get those filthy, murderingchildburninghands off?

"_**ROY!"**_ He froze. The person he was fighting was the owner of that woman's voice, and the note of desperation in it made him actually look to see who was trying to stop him. Short, beautiful blonde hair and mahogany eyes that could eat a man's soul, eyes tainted in fear and worry… Even though he had discovered she had joined the military, had talked to her only two days before, he could not believe that the shy young Riza Hawkeye was here in this hellhole.

"Roy," she said again. "Please." She looked tired and dusty with her rifle slung over one shoulder. Blood dripped down her arm, mixing with the sweat and dirt; with a shock he realized she had cut her palm while trying to pull the knife blade from his hand. Numbly he allowed her to take the blade.

She tucked it behind her belt, then sagged in relief. "What were you _thinking?_" she asked raggedly.

"He… burning… It's just… _a child_… and…" He trailed off, suddenly feeling ashamed. What must_ she_ think about him, the murderer? She should have let him die trying to cut off his hands.

Riza gave him an odd look. Next thing he knew, she had gently pulled him into her arms. "It's okay. I know." With a strangled little sound, he buried his face in her shoulder and clung to her desperately.

Then, in the middle of the desert wasteland called Ishbal, it began to rain.


	4. Chapter 4

**SPOLIER WARNING FOR CHAPTERS 100-101 OF THE MANGA. Does not exist for the BROTHERHOOD ANIME as of yet, but when it does I will update. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!**

Theme 4: Grave

Heroes Often Fail

Riza had told him it was a nice day. Blues skies with a few white clouds; green grass; not a hint of rain. She was at the car, down the hill; he could hear her talking quietly to Fullmetal's mechanic, Winry Rockbell.

There was a soft rustling sound to his right. He thought it was Fullmetal shifting his weight. "Come on, Ling. You can't stay here all day." The boy's voice was subdued. Roy knew he had liked the bodyguard, but Fullmetal hadn't the slightest notion of what Ling was going through. Roy himself had tried to go down that path in his thoughts before, and had shuddered away from the dark abyss that had awaited him.

Ling grunted; the sound came from below, so he must still be kneeling before the grave. It had a nice gravestone: they had let him touch it; Riza had read it to him. His hand tightened around the cane. "You go ahead," Ling said dully. "You don't need to stay here with me."

"Ling-."

"Edward."

The boy stopped for a moment. Roy figured it was the tone of his voice, or maybe Ling had the haunted look of a despairing man whose grief could hold even a homunculus at bay. Despite wearing that face several times himself, he could only imagine what it looked like. He was certain his imaginings fell short.

Fullmetal, stupid boy that he was – No, that was wrong never _stupid_, but _horrendously naïve_, that was it, _horrendously naïve_, he rather liked that – Fullmetal, _horrendously naïve_ as he was, began again.

"L-!"

"**What** if it had been Winry, Ed? You would be sitting here like me." The Xing's voice was harsh.

"What-? I don't -! It's not like- she's just a…" Elric sputtered. Roy could practically hear the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"I see the way you look at her, Ed, don't try and hide it. Mustang! Wipe that smirk off your face. If it wasn't for Ran Fan, that General of yours would be dead, and you'd be the one in the dirt. Don't try to pretend differently; even though you're blind, you always talk directly to her face." The prince stopped abruptly, probably staring at the grave again.

Ed, however, wasn't done. "You and General Hawkeye? Huh. I wonder if she knows. Should I tell her?" Roy could almost see his insolent grin.

"Breathe a word, and your mechanic will hear all about your crush, Fullmetal."

"Okay, okay. I was just joking." A pause. "The Führer and his assistant, huh? How cliché."

Roy didn't hear him, his mind being elsewhere. Finally, "It's so hard to remember her face. Every day it gets harder, but I keep trying." His hands shook around the cane. "What happens when I forget it entirely?" There was a rough pain in his voice. He stopped talking; he hadn't meant to reveal that much, especially not to Fullmetal, Ling, and Greed.

Silence stretched for an unbearably long time to Roy. "What are you doing? Damn it!" Without waiting for a reply, he swung about in the direction of the car, his cane held out in front of him like a lifeline.

He heard footsteps in the grass. "I'm here," a warm voice murmured in his ear. A firm hand gently grasped his arm, leading him on a path slightly to the left of the one he'd been walking, presumably toward the car. "What were you talking about?" General Riza Hawkeye asked.

"Not much," Roy replied. He could feel her anxiety in her grip. He placed his free hand on hers. ""There's nothing to worry about." Even though he could not be sure, he was certain his blank eyes were staring directly into her mahogany ones.

Apparently she found something there, for she noticeably relaxed. "Very good, sir," she said. As she spoke, a spark of light flitted into his enforced darkness.

It was only for a moment.

It was enough for a new purpose to enter his life, possibly the most important one to date.

One day, he _would _see her face again.

It was enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Theme 5: Heiki (Weapon) & Heiki (Fine)

A Man with a Conscience

Riza Hawkeye winced as she pulled the last bandage over her burn wounds. They had been healing nicely, and it wasn't as if he had burned her _entire_ back, but still… She hadn't expected it to hurt so much; it was like she'd forgotten how all the burn wounds she had received from her father as a child felt. Of course, she was never going to tell _him_ that. Besides, at least now she was _free_ – free from the burden of constant worry and doubt, the fear that she would die and the secrets on her back would go to the wrong person, that an alchemist would touch her and somehow set off the circle (even though her father had ensured her that that was impossible, it was still a terrifying prospect in Riza's mind).

Thanks to her father, she'd been the key to the ultimate weapon: The Flame Alchemist. After Ishbal, she simply couldn't stand the thought of creating another, especially if that other was like Kimbley. She shuddered. _At least the Major – no, Lieutenant-Colonel, now – the Lieutenant-Colonel has a conscience,_ she thought, dragging a black shirt over her head. _The knife bit into her hand and he tried to fight her off, screaming something about blood, and getting his hands off. She held on; she couldn't let him do that, couldn't let him die, he was too _damn _important…_ That had been almost a week ago, but she _should_ really forget it, because the war was over; the State Alchemists had ended the war quickly. She buttoned her uniform's jacket, checked her appearance in the mirror, and left the room she shared with Rebecca.

She had been summoned to _his_ office. Riza couldn't help but hope it was about her request for transfer. She hovered outside his door, suddenly feeling unreasonably nervous. _"He… It's just… A _child_…" He looked for forlorn, so guilty…_She blinked the image away, steeled herself, and knocked.

Riza stirred her tea, humming to herself quietly. She ignored the strange looks Rebecca kept shooting at her from her chair across the room.

"_If I ever step off the path, shoot me. You are entitled to do so. Will you follow me?"_

As if I would let you step off, Mustang. "_As you wish, sir. Into Hell, if you so desire."_

_Mustang stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Report here for duty at 0800 hours tomorrow. Dismissed."_

_She saluted. "No," Mustang said suddenly, gently guiding her hand away from her face. "You don't salute to me, of all people, unless it's necessary."_

"_Yes, sir." He was much too close to her, and she began to feel nervous again, only this time she couldn't have said why._

"_Your…your…"Mustang stopped. Pain and self-hate flashed across his eyes and he took a breath, began again. "How is your back, Second Lieutenant?"_

_She smiled. _ A man with a conscience, the best person to hold the consequences of her father's research – if the burdens of being a human weapon didn't drive him crazy, first. _She thought he could handle it. "I'm fine," she assured him._


	6. Chapter 6

Theme 6: Death

Sleeping Pills

He died today.

We celebrated his 73rd birthday just last month. Edward and Winry and their girls came to visit, as did Alphonse and Mei and their son Henry; Lizzie and Xing-ke were with Emperor Ling Yao in Xing still, so they couldn't come. Elysia stopped by. She's grown so much. Martin came in from Lior. His sister Lauren and her husband Patrick brought baby Louis – he's adorable, he has his mother's eyes, and _she_ has her father's eyes, which brings me back to the fact that he died today.

I held his hand. He wouldn't get out of bed this morning. He said that there was no point. He looked at me with those blank eyes of his and smiled straight at me. He always knew exactly where I was, even though he couldn't see me. I'm not sure even he knew how he did it. His hair was mostly grey, now, not the same raven black, but I hadn't even noticed it change.

He died today.

I held his hand.

I am now a widow. He looked at me and smiled. He said, "I'll be waiting for you, Riza. Make me wait. Make me wait a long time. Promise?" And I did. He never told me how long a long time was, though, which was rather forgetful of him; he was always forgetting things like that. Then his eyes, his cloudy eyes, cleared and were sharp and black and piercing again. I knew he could see, and I nearly cried. Then he said, "You have such beautiful eyes, Riza. Such beautiful eyes." And I did cry. Then he said, "How ironic, to see you just now; at least I can die happily, now" in that infuriating way of his. Then the breath went out of him and he died.

He died today.

I held his hand.

I am now a widow.

It's been three hours. I can't wait anymore. I can't live alone anymore, not without knowing I'll be seeing him eventually. That's why I joined the military in the first place. He's not coming back through the door this time, though.

He died today.

I held his hand.

I'm now a widow.

It's been three hours.

I thought about using a gun. Then I realized it would be Lauren or Martin or Patrick or Elysia or another of our friends or family who found us, and there was no reason to scar them with a bloody mess. So I took pills instead. I'll just get back in bed with him and go to sleep. That's how they'll find us: Curled up and asleep, peaceful, happy.

He died today.

I held his hand.

I'm now a widow.

It's been three hours.

I thought about using a gun.

I'm going to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This one's set in the first episode of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, so if you are manga-cenrtic, it may not make much sense, but I think you could get the drift, anyway.**

**Also, thanks to little miss clueless and Diedre D'Nai for their reviews. Thank you!**

Theme 7: Crime and Punishment

Irony

How ironic, that I, one of the greatest mass-murderers of all time, am running around Central doing police duty.

Isaac McDougal was loose here in Central, and Führer Bradley had ordered _me_ to capture him. Of course I was going to do it – it was a chance for some credit, and possibly a promotion – but it didn't mean I couldn't appreciate the irony.

I understood the Freezer's anger over the Ishbal Massacre. Hell, I was still pissed about Ishbal. Still. There were better ways to deal with it, such as getting to the top. History has shown that internal revolutions were much more effective than criminal uprisings. Ha. Criminal. Ha.

McDougal had just spit in my face, figuratively and literally, shaming me in front of a squadron of soldiers. Sopping wet, I stormed back to where the Lieutenant waited for me. She didn't seem too surprised to see my condition. "I'm going to get that bastard," I growled, ripping off my ruined gloves.

"I thought you were already doing that, sir," the Lieutenant replied calmly. "Did you forget that he liked to play with water?" She handed me a towel, as if she had been expecting me to come back drenched. She knew me too well. That, or she had no confidence in my abilities.

"Of course not! ….Well, maybe a little…." I grumbled, wiping off my face.

To her credit, Hawkeye did not laugh. "You really should pay more attention when your superiors talk, Colonel."

I glared at her, trying to figure out if she was poking fun at me or not. She ignored me and pulled a briefcase out of the trunk of the car. We began walking back to the barricade. "Isn't it ironic, though?" I said, knowing no elaboration was necessary.

"No."

I shot her a quizzical look.

"If you tried to pull whatever McDougal is doing, Central wouldn't need to chase you down. I'd shoot you myself," she explained matter-of-factly.

I smiled. "Huh. Glad you have such a high opinion of me."

"You can't dodge a bullet." Hawkeye stopped behind the barricade. She opened the briefcase, revealing about half a dozen pairs of my special ignition gloves. "But it's not ironic," she continued. "You want to save people, to accomplish your goals by causing the least harm. McDougal doesn't care who gets hurt, so long as he kills the Führer, and I don't see how that's going to make anything better at all. The two of you are completely different. Stop thinking yourself a monster already."

I smirked self-deprecatingly. "That obvious?"

"Only to me."

A strange crackling sound came from my left. Confused, I turned and saw a huge block of ice gradually moving towards us.

"Shit," I muttered as I marched out – well, _waddled_, but that's not dignified – **marched** out to meet McDougal's alchemy.


	8. Chapter 8

Theme 8: Store-lined Streets

Parenthood

"Daddy! Wait for me!"

Roy paused and turned back to the little blonde girl running down the street towards him. "What took you so long, Lauren? I was about to leave without you!" he joked, knowing full well that he couldn't go anywhere without her.

The sound of the little girl's, Lauren's, footsteps stopped just in front of him. Her panting was loud in his ears. "No, Daddy! Don't leave without me!" she wailed.

Roy smiled, offering his hand to her. She took it and they continued out of base and into the streets of Central.

"What are we doing today, Daddy?"

"Well, your mommy wants us to get some fruit, and Black Hayate and Kasumi need dog food. And…" Roy stopped, waiting for the inevitable response.

"'Aaaaaaaa-nd' what, Daddy, what?" Lauren chirped.

"We'll have to hide it from your mother, but… Oh, never mind. We'll get in _lots_ of trouble if Mommy finds out"

"Aw, come on, Daddy! What is it?"

"Better not." Roy shook his head slowly.

"Daddy! Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me!" Lauren pulled on his hand. Roy guessed she was jumping up and down with anticipation.

"Oh, alright," he relented. "I _was_ going to get us son ice cream…"

"Yay! Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!" Roy grinned ruefully, imagining her joyful expression. He was trying, as always, to imagine what her face looked like. Riza had told him that her hair was light blonde and that she had his eyes exactly. He didn't really remember what his eyes looked like, so it wasn't much help.

Lauren dragged him down Market Street, laughing as they dodged around carts and people. At least, he _assumed_ they were carts and people. They could have been tanks and homunculi with Ourborous tattoos on their foreheads for all he knew, but he was sire _somebody_ would have noticed that and told him. He was Führer, after all.

They picked out the apples, bananas, and oranges Riza had been wanting. Lauren jovially told him (With a little help from the shopkeeper) which ones were good and which ones were "icky." Then Lauren led him down the store-lined street to the butcher's shop, where Roy ordered a few pounds of ground beef for the dogs, and where Lauren hid from the man with the knife by standing behind her father. The effect was rather spoiled by her giggling. Finally, they walked to the ice cream shop, Lauren cheering the entire time.

No sooner had they sat down – Lauren with chocolate ice cream, Roy with vanilla – than two military personnel ran in (Lauren had told him). "There he is! Führer Mustang! You left without your guards, sir. General Mustang sent us out."

Roy sighed quietly. "At ease, Major, Colonel." There was a shuffling sound as they complied. "You can wait for us outside."

"Uh… the General gave us a message for you, Your Excellency." The man stopped, as if afraid.

"What's the message, Colonel?"

"Um…"

"Well?"

"S-she says 'You shouldn't leave without your bodyguards, because you do enough stupid things without getting yourself killed. Don't have them wait outside, either, because that's almost as bad.'"

"Okay. That's not so bad, Colonel."

"Uh and…. And 'If you do anything to spoil Lauren's dinner-'well, um…"

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Uh… well… she says you'll regret it," the soldier said in a rush.

Roy laughed. "We'll see about that," he declared, spooning some more ice cream into his mouth. Several very nasty possibilities ran through his mind; he could feel the blood drain from his face. "On second thought, Lauren, I think we should go home now."

"What?"

"Trust me, honey. It's for the best."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Small spoiler for Chapter 87 of the manga and the corresponding Brotherhood episode (I think it's called The Underground Oath, or something like that). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!**

**Also, to SageQuill and 4cherryblossoms: Thank you for your encouraging words! Hope you (and everyone else reading) enjoy the chapter! **

Theme 9: Unknown Past/Before We Knew Each Other

Mother

Roy didn't know how they got in that position, but he really didn't care to think much about it. All he wanted was to lay there with Hawkeye's body tucked under his arm and her head on his chest and his eyes closed. He could feel her warmth even beneath his cotton shirt. It was surprisingly…nice, that warmth.

Hawkeye shifted and tapped his chest. "Mustang."

"Hmm? Yes?" He reluctantly opened his eyes and saw her staring at his face.

"I was just thinking. In all the years I've known you, you've never told me about your parents."

_What is she talking about?_ "What are you talking about? You've met my mother."

Her eyes made a funny little jerk, as if she had started to roll her eyes but thought better of it. "Not Kris Mustang. Your _actual_ parents."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. Roy sighed, looked at the ceiling. "It was a long time ago. Do you know about the incident with the Xingese ambassador?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "His daughter eloped with a soldier. Everyone knows about it."

"Mmm. Their son is my father."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was a little nerdy mathematician. My mother was… well, she just _was_. There was nothing remotely special about her. She stayed at home, raised me. Shopped. Cooked. She was especially ordinary…" He trailed off, suddenly confronted by half-forgotten memories.

"She sounds like a nice person," Hawkeye said finally.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. She used to rescue dogs." He frowned, unconsciously pulling Hawkeye a bit closer. "I was eight. They died when the house caught on fire. Smoke inhalation." Hawkeye went stiff, and Roy looked back down, meeting her shocked eyes. "See why I don't talk about it? But they didn't burn, Lieutenant. They were pulled out before they could burn. The _smoke_ killed them."

"I-I…"

"_Don't!_" Roy said raggedly, suddenly knowing what she was going to say. "I was _eight_! It was traumatic, it was horrible, but I don't want your _pity!_ I just… I just… need…Ugh!" Words failed him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slammed his head back onto the pillow.

Hawkeye froze for a moment, then sighed and put her head on his chest. She squirmed until her arm was free, then wrapped it around him. "You're a fool, Roy Mustang. It's not pity if the person cares for you."

Roy frowned, processing that. He decided to change the subject – there were too many pitfalls in that direction at the moment. Maybe, after he accomplished his goal, he could consider that path, but for now…

"You've never told me about your mother."

"Hm? I never really knew her. She died when I was young…"


	10. Chapter 10

**Because I didn't do this before, consider this a blanket announcement for all chapters: **

**Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa. I'm not that good at cliffhangers, nor can I draw that well.**

**A/N: After #8, or a #8-like incident, so it might be confusing if you skipped… ^_^ Also, spoilers for CHAPTERS 100-101 OF THE MANGA AND A NONEXSISTENT BROTHERHOOD EPISODE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!**

Theme 10: Promise

Marital Bliss…?

"Are you simply determined to spoil her, or is there some ulterior political motive involved?" Riza demanded. She shoved the book back onto the shelf with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary, but she didn't care; he was a fool. Her anger boiled within her, quickly melting the thick layer of ice between it and her brain.

There was a soft _click_ as Roy put down his pen. "What? She can't have a bit of fun?"

Riza whirled around, her hands in fists at her sides. "She's the Führer's daughter. She can't go out in public without guards. _Just_ like the _Führer_ can't go traipsing around Central without an escort! _Fun_ has nothing to do with it!"

"What does being my daughter have to do with her walking around town?" he shot back. "Not many people know what she looks like, anyway. She should be able to meet people outside of this hellhole without those people bowing and scraping. Besides, she was with me, she was perfectly fine."

"_Everyone knows your face, it's not too hard to figure out who Lauren is!_ And, in case you've forgotten, _sir_, but you can't exactly _see_ very well. Someone could have taken her right from you without you noticing!"

Roy's expression froze, and Riza mentally kicked herself. She purposefully avoided the topic of his sight.

"I would have known, Riza. _Nobody_ could have taken her from me. _Let them try!_ I will burn them to a crisp!" he rasped, snapping his fingers demonstratively. Suddenly he rose and stormed across his office to her. He grabbed her arm; she winced at his unusually tight grip. "Is _that_ what this is all about? I knew you'd been brooding over something lately, but _this-?_ I thought you were better than that, Riza." His voice was little more than a hoarse, cutting whisper. Under the anger, there was a small, sad expression – almost as if he was about to cry – but she was too mad to care.

At that moment, there was a timid knock at the door.

"Come in," Roy growled.

A soldier's head poked through. "Uh, Your Excellency, General Mustang, ma'am, the Drasnian ambassador has been waiting for almost half an hour. He is becoming very… impatient…" Under the combined forces of their glares, he quickly retreated and closed the door.

"That's not the issue, you- you-!" She shoved him away. "My _point_ is that I'm trying to protect her, _and you_. There are some horrible things out there, and she needs to be _safe_."

He roughly took her shoulders. "So you're going to lock her in a box?" His face was too close; she tried to take a step back, but couldn't. He back was against the bookshelf. "If you want to _protect_ her, then you don't raise her to be naïve. You _don't _inhibit her, you _don't_ trap her, you let her discover the good and the bad on her own and guide her away from the horrible, so later she doesn't go stir-crazy and run off and get all tangled up in it!" Riza tried to push past him, but he somehow managed to pin her bodily against the shelves. A few books were lying on the floor, but she hadn't noticed them fall.

"Riza," he said, visibly trying to calm himself. "Riza. She's gotta live. It's not going to be like it was with us: _we'll be there for her_. But don't try and lock her up. She won't be able to survive later if can't live normally now. Promise me, Riza. Promise me she'll live as normally as possible, not caged, but free. …Please."

His blank eyes stared boldly, desperately into hers and the pleading note in his voice made her anger dissipate. Suddenly she found herself wishing his eyes were normal again, just so she could see them, coal-black and determined. "Yeah, Roy, I promise," she sighed.

No sooner had she uttered the words than his lips crushed against hers. She had a moment to wonder if she was being paid off like some common hussy, but the thought quickly vanished beneath the whirlwind of emotion. She pushed deeper into the kiss, her fingers knotting in his hair. Then a dreadful thought entered her mind and she groaned against his mouth.

"The ambassador's waiting for us," she said when they finally broke for air.

Roy smirked. "Let him wait." He kissed her again. Then he left…

…to lock the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey, no spoilers for once. Woo-hoo! Anyways, I just wanted to say that, believe it or not, I actually have finals this week (****) so updates may be off (because I had a fixed schedule. Ha!). Then there's always the few days were everyone sits down at home and says, "Wow, the school year's over," and then falls asleep. So bear with me, my good friends! Though it may seem like I dropped off the face of the planet, I'll actually be quite alive. **

Theme 11: Liar

Melissa

Melissa smiled at the dark-haired man sitting across the table from her. He was Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, the Hero of Ishbal, and notorious among the women of Central. They were at _La Shē,_ a slightly upscale restaurant. Hey, Melissa was an uptown girl; her tastes were too… _refined_… for the run-of-the-mill, ma-and-pop place. "So, Roy, how was your day?" she asked, taking another petite bite of her pasta.

Roy smiled back. "Quite boring, actually. You wouldn't want to hear about it, I promise. I mostly sat at my desk and filled out paperwork. How was your day? Didn't you say you were going shopping with Miss Parton?"

"Oh, yes! It was lovely. I found a dress with…" Melissa enthused, diving into a detailed account of the trip. She had no fear of losing his interest; his mind had leapt elsewhere the moment he mentioned paperwork. Melissa filed this information away for later while she prattled on –better he thought she had air between her ears; people tended to become a bit more lax around people they thought were stupid. Something was driving him to distraction, and she was determined to find out what it was, even if it led back to her apartment.

Which it did. It was their fourth date – technically – so it wasn't anywhere _near_ whorish, but Melissa was still sure her mother would have a fit if she found out (because Melissa was _so_ going to tell her. Ha!). Afterword, she leaned on her elbow, so she could see his face, and played idly with his dog tags. Melissa had been surprised to see that he wore them out of uniform, but then again, she hadn't really dated a military man before. "Do I remind you of someone, Roy?" she asked lowly, flipping her brunette curls.

"No," he answered (honestly, she could tell). "No, I can definitely say you are completely unique, Melissa."

She laughed, pleased, and kissed him. There wasn't much conversation after that, but another piece of the puzzle fell into place. _Maybe it's not that I remind him of someone,_ she wondered later. _But that I __**don't**__ remind him of someone._

Only a few days later, Melissa's conundrum was solved. She had been waiting for him outside his Headquarters when he came out, accompanied by a blonde woman.

"…takes so long to do paperwork," he was saying.

"If you didn't procrastinate so much, sir, you'd be done a lot earlier," the woman noted dryly.

Roy shot her an annoyed look that was half-jest. "Good night, Lieutenant."

"Good night, Colonel." The Lieutenant walked away and Roy made a beeline for Melissa's car.

"One of your subordinates?" she asked. Her chauffer began to drive.

"Yes," he replied. His head rested on his hand, while his other arm was crossed across his chest. He stared out the window, a small smile on his features.

"Tough was, isn't she?"

"Yes, indeed."

" And you love her?"

"What? You're mistaken, Melissa," he laughed nervously. "Military personnel do not feel affection for other military personnel." He wore a look so innocent that she would've believed him, if he hadn't looked so damned guilty first.

"Uh-huh. Right. Liar." She fought a grin… and lost horribly. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. I'll still date you, too, you poor sap."

Roy laughed. "People are too damned perceptive sometimes."

And Melissa couldn't help but laugh, too. He had just, after all, complimented her.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you, Ruingaraf and MoonStarDuchess, for your awesome reviews!**

**Also, this is the first in a fun little group I've written about 'the wedding.' Please enjoy their torture.**

**And: A quick, somewhat selfish request for my readers: If you see any typos, errors, inconsistencies, etc., don't be afraid to shove them in my face. I would actually enjoy that. Thank you!**

Theme 12: Proof

Arsdale

It had been a long time since she had last worn a dress. She frowned at herself in the mirror. The dress was white silk with a tight, plain bodice. The skirt flared out slightly just below her waist and dragged along the floor. A mint green sash had been tied – tightly! – Between the sash and the corset, she could hardly breathe! – with an elaborate knot around her waist. The dress's sleeves were white lace over _even more _damnable white silk. _She_ had wanted to wear her military uniform, buy Winry, Rebecca, Sarah, and Shezka had had fits worthy of a toddler. She hadn't seen the point; it wasn't like _he was_ going to care, and _his _opinion was all she really cared about, anyway… but she had relented, if only to save her friends the pain of having a seizure, or something similar. She sighed.

Her hair was almost as annoying as the dress. Most of it pulled up into a smooth, tight bun, with several curled strands hanging free around her face. She hated that. Hair should be up, or it should be down, and that was it. She couldn't stomach any of this sissy half-done crap.

And then there was the _makeup_. She scowled at her reflection. "Why the Hell am I doing this?"

"Because," Rebecca answered, her smile slipping into a disapproving frown. "Don't make such disgusting faces at the mirror, Riza, it's very un-ladylike."

"Because you_ love_ him, that's why you're doing it," Winry said, business-like. Riza wondered whether Edward had asked her out yet. _He said he would. I bet he chickened out. Again._

"It's _so_ romantic!" Shezka trilled, grinning like a fool. She was the worst hopeless romantic Riza knew.

Riza sighed again. "You guys could've at least let me keep my gun." If Winry looked scandalized, Shezka was absolutely shocked. Rebecca just shook her head and tapped her foot impatiently.

"Riza-," she began.

"It was a gift from Roy," she continued, speaking right over her friend. She was awarded is a disgruntled glare. "It's a nice gun, too, the newest model from Arsdale." She wondered how he knew she preferred Arsdale guns above all others, even the military-issue Rochesters (which, surprisingly, weren't all that bad). It wasn't as if she had told him, and she didn't think it was noticeable – she only had one; it was an expensive rifle, but _completely _worth it – but somehow he knew.

Suddenly she laughed. _That's my answer._ Because he knew. "Winry, give me back my sidearm, will you?" Riza asked (well, commanded, but with a question mark… that _is_ still asking, _right_?) as she hurried to her bag, cursing her needlessly long skirts.

"What? No, I'm not going to give it to you! It's your wedding day, you won't need it."

"Actually, I think I will need it. There it is!" Riza pulled her thigh holster from her bag, and then turned triumphantly to her friends.

"Why do you keep that with you?" Shezka asked, sounding like she was about to faint. She may have been a tad pale, too, but it was hard to tell with all the face paint.

"Don't worry about it," she told Shezka offhandedly, concentrating on Winry. "I won't shoot anyone needlessly, I promise, but I do need that gun if you want me to walk down that aisle." _In front of all those people. Crap._ She fought the urge to gulp – or run out of the place screaming, whichever came first.

Perhaps she looked as nervous as she felt, because Winry gave her an odd look and – to Rebecca and Schezka's surprise and horror – knelt and produced a lockbox from out of God-knew-where. The key appeared as if by magic in her hand. Riza didn't know where she'd been keeping it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

Winry quickly unlocked the box, then stared, confused. "Which one is it?" she asked quietly.

Riza leaned over the girl's shoulder, in order to see better. There were three handguns in the lockbox: two Rochesters and her Arsdale. "That one," she said, pointing to the one on the right.

"Mmm." Winry motioned Riza closer. Curious, Riza complied. "I get it," Winry told her quietly. "I wouldn't be able to go out there without my wrench tucked away someplace, either." The blonde winked, then continued a bit louder. "No shooting?" she asked, picking up the gun and handing it over.

"Just like I said." Riza smiled at the girl, then at the small firearm. This was her proof, her proof that Roy _loved_ her and that she was _not_ a fool for parading that around in front of everyone in the country… _On the planet, actually, but let's not think about that._ She lifted her obnoxious skirts and strapped the holster firmly to her leg, then slipped the Arsdale in place.

Everything would be all right.


	13. Chapter 13

Theme 13: Betrayal

"You Selfish Bastard"

"I thought I told you that I didn't want a bachelor's party!" Roy growled. "Multiple times, in fact!"

"Heh, too damn bad, Führer," Fulman said from somewhere off to his right.

"Yeah, you can court-marshal them later, Mustang," Ling – Greed – laughed. The prince – um, Homunculus – had a hold of Roy's left arm and was _very_ firmly _not going to let go_. "For now, enjoy your last free hours, huh?"

"I've turned Homunculus to ash before, you know. I should let you see how it feels."

"Have fun with that. Does carbon even burn?"

"Anything can burn if the flames are hot enough."

Greed laughed again. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Roy scowled as he entered the building, propelled by Greed. From the loud, pounding music and the sounds of men cheering and the occasional woman's squeal, it was a strip club. _Wow, guys. Brilliant. Because the blind guy will _**so**_ enjoy watching the strippers. Oh, wait. __**He can't fucking see.**_"You guys are bright," he remarked as Greed led him to a chair.

"Hey, it _was_ my idea," Ling told him quietly. "I figure I'd spare you the horrors or drinking games down at the Flying Pig. You do _not_ want to see Fuery drunk, trust me. Besides, you aren't _actually_ seeing anything, so you can't really complain. Just let the guys have a good time, and go home knowing you were spared. Don't drink too much, okay? You can sit here and mope. I'm going to hang out with the girls!" That last bit was Greed talking; the timbre of his voice changed whenever the Homunculus took over. He… they – Roy wasn't sure which pronoun was appropriate – hurried away to grace some poor girl with their presence.

"Thanks, you selfish bastard," Roy muttered. It wasn't even as if he had some weird moral thing where he believed the bachelor's party was wrong. In fact, if it had been another's party, he'd probably enjoy himself. But a bachelor's party was for a man who was chaining himself to someone and leaving the "free" life behind. Roy didn't feel like he was caging himself, though. She had _always_ been a piece of his life. He had _always_ been undisputedly tied to her. This – Saturday, two days from now – was the next logical step, making that fact universally acknowledged. Therefore, he didn't need a bachelor's party, because he wasn't really walking away from anything, really. Except dating, of course, but he had don that to fill the void Riza had been forbidden to fill and to annoy Havoc. Mostly to annoy Havoc; nothing could replace Riza Hawkeye. _Guess I'll let Havoc actually keep a girl, now._

"Hey, boss, have a beer!" Breda slammed a glass down on the table. Roy sighed.

It was going to be a _**long**_ night.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hi, guys! Sorry for disappearing on you. My family just moved, and it's been a really hectic time. I'll try and update regularly from now on, but most of the house is still in boxes, so I can make no promises. :( Anyways, this is a little experiment; I tried to write this one as a play script because it was mainly dialogue, with only two actions actually written in the entire original manuscript. I discovered something: I'm **_**horrible**_ **at writing play scripts! (I actually feel sorry for you guys, you'll have to puzzle it out.) **

**Anyways, for those of you who don't read scripts on a regular basis: **_**[beat]**_** means that there is a spot in the conversation where there is a pause, often while the character waits for conversation or for an action to be performed. This particular attempt has less stage directions (also in **_**[]**_**, like **_**[They both watched the sky], [Sadly]**_**, etc.**

**If you have any questions, don't be afraid to be VERY VOCAL about them. I would REALLY appreciate them. SERIOUSLY. In other words, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! Thanks. Enjoy the story. :)**

Theme 14: Covered Eyes

The Best Man

_[The back room of a church, specially kept for weddings. It is white. There is a bench along one wall, underneath a window that has the blinds shut. There is a large vanity with a large mirror. Riza Hawkeye, in civilian clothes, is sitting in front of the vanity, nervously brushing her hair. Enter JEAN HAVOC. Havoc is in a wheelchair and dressed in a tux, in a fashionable 1920's style. There is a rose in his coat lapel. He quickly pulls his cigarette from his mouth and snuffs it out in an ashtray attached to the wheelchair.]_

**Havoc:** Hey, Riza.

**Hawkeye:** What do you want, Havoc?

**Havoc:** _[Taken aback]_ Roy wanted me to give you a message. He'd come himself, but a few whiteneck civs caught him on him way over, so he sent me instead.

**Hawkeye:** Who?

**Havoc:** A couple minor Assembly members and Fidel, that ambassador from the South.

**Hawkeye:** _[Turning slowly around] _mmm. What did R-? _[beat]_ Jean, why are you covering your eyes?

**Havoc:** Well, the groom can't see the bride before the wedding, right? And, 'cuz I'm delivering the message _for_ Roy, I'd might as well _be_ the groom. Besides, even if Roy came in, there wouldn't be much point in _him_ covering his eyes – Ow! Why'd you throw your hairbrush at me?

**Hawkeye:** Don't be a jackass, Havoc, it's _not_ the right time for it. Will you deliver Roy's message already?

**Havoc:** Okay. Come here. _[Riza looks wary, but approaches] _ Closer. No closer. Even closer. Now lean down. _[Makes goofy kissing noise while pecking her on lips.__]_ 'I'll see you at three.' That's what he was going to do.

**Hawkeye: **_[scandalized]_ Jean Havoc!

**Havoc:** What, never been kissed by someone as handsome as me before? Geez, I thought adding a funny sound effect would make that _less_ awkward. Guess I was wrong!

**Hawkeye: …**Roy asked you to kiss me?

**Havoc:** Well… No. But he was going to do it, anyway.

**Hawkeye:** Get out.

**Havoc:**_ [__beat]_ …What's wrong? You afraid to walk down the aisle, or something?

**Hawkeye:** No. …There's just… a lot of people out there, that's all.

**Havoc:** You're … afraid?

**Hawkeye:**_ [vehemently]_ No!

**Havoc:** _[in disbelief]_ You've faced gunners, psychopaths, serial killers, chimera, homunculi, even fricken' _Father_, and _you're afraid of a few people?_

**Hawkeye:** Havoc, stop!

**Havoc:** _[beat]_ Look. _Roy Mustang_ will be waiting for you at the end of that aisle. All you have to do is walk down the aisle and meet him. Just… ignore all the people. Okay? Stare at the matchstick and ignore everything else. Until the Ishbalan guy starts talking, anyways.

**Hawkeye:** It's not that simple - !

**Havoc:** Is it?

**Hawkeye:** _[beat. Stammering halfheartedly]_ I-I'll trip over that ridiculous dress, or forget something, or -.

**Havoc:** _[Like a drill sergeant]_ Pull yourself together, soldier! You've been trained too well to break down because of _civilians!_ _[More gently]_ Look, if him _being _there isn't enough for you, then don't walk down that aisle. And, for the record, he didn't want a big ceremony, either, but that's what you get for marrying the Führer. You'll both be _fine_.

**Hawkeye:** …Roy's nervous, too, isn't he?

**Havoc:** _[smirking]_ You didn't hear it from me.

**Hawkeye:** Hm. That's… interesting. _[Takes a calming breath]_ Now, will you get _the hell_ out?

**Havoc:** Yes, ma'am!

**A/N: So? What d'ya think? Review, please!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:**** Recipe for this scene: **

**Combine one cup original anime and one cup manga/Brotherhood anime blend. Stir until there are no lumps.**

**Sprinkle liberally with author's bias.**

**Bake at 375 degrees for fifteen minutes.**

**Remove and let cool.**

**Serve and enjoy. (**_**serves 15 people)**_

Theme 15: The Scent of Blood

Death Never Filed My Resignation

The house was empty. Mustang found a door to the cellar. He called me over, and we went down together.

The stench hit me first. It was the scent of blood and charred, rotting flesh and was all too familiar. I had to fight an Ishbal flashback. I hoped Mustang wouldn't fall back into the war, too. It had happened once before. I shuddered, remembering.

A huge transmutation circle had been drawn in chalk across the floor. Between my father, the Lieutenant-Colonel, and Major Armstrong, I knew quite a bit about alchemy, but I hadn't the slightest clue what the complex circle was for. My understanding might have been aided if the center of the circle had not been completely obscured with blood. _Nobody could lose that much blood and live,_ I thought, blanching. I glanced at the blood splattered across the walls. _There's enough blood for at least two people to have bled out. Maybe three. God, what happened here?_

Mustang knew; that much was obvious. He turned on the local officer who had led us here, seized his collar and slammed him into the wall. "Where are those boys? Where are the Elrics?" he demanded. I'd never seen him so shaken up by something since that child in Ishbal. Then the officer stuttered out an answer, Mustang all but ran out the door. I followed, hoping he wouldn't do anything else stupid.

He did. He burst through the Rockbell's door. I smiled apologetically, was about to say something –and then I saw the boy. He sat in a wheelchair perched in front of a decorative antique suit of armor. His right arm and left leg were nothing but bandaged stumps; his eyes were empty and lifeless. The Lieutenant-Colonel had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, too, and lifted him half out of the wheelchair. Their faces were mere centimeters apart. "What did you _do_? What did you _make_?" Mustang sounded horrified, angry, and –astonishing – a bit excited. I doubted that anyone else noticed that last; it was only very slight, and I knew his expressions too well; I was probably the only one he couldn't hide a thing from.

I began to intervene, but apparently I was like Mustang on a rainy day because a young boy's voice interrupted me. "We're sorry. We didn't mean to. We're sorry. We're sorry."

I gasped. The suit of armor had moved, but its hand on the Lieutenant-Colonel's arm. It had been the one to speak, too, with a young, tinny voice.

All the expression on Mustang's face melted away to be replaced by absolute shock. I felt my heart instantly go out to the two boys. Something terrible had happened to them. No child should go through something to leave it with such empty eyes as Edward's.

Later, after the Lieutenant-Colonel had spoken to the Elrics and I to Miss Winry, we headed back into town in that rickety old wagon and began to talk.

"… That boy had fire in his eyes."

"Hmm. Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant-Colonel?"

He looked surprised. I did not normally ask. "Of course, Hawkeye."

"I do not think our jobs ferrying across that river of blood are over. Else _that_ would not be allowed to happen," I said softly.

I had thought I'd done a good job keeping the sob out of those words, but apparently not well enough. Mustang stared at me for a moment, and I knew he knew what I meant; that I was crying on the inside; and I knew that he felt almost the same. He glanced at the cart's driver, but the incident in the cellar was still fresh in his mind and the man was terrified of the Lieutenant-Colonel and was not about to pay any heed to his passengers. Noting this, Mustang leaned over and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Hang in there. I feel as if it's almost over." He told me. I could tell he was lying. We were far from done.

"I know, sir." I got the impression he knew I knew he was lying, too.

**A/N: Also, a real big thank-you to Starry Pink for her lovely review. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **** These next few themes will be out of order because they all relate and I think they make more sense this way. Be sure to tell me what you think, especially when the next few come out and the reasons for their order become more apparent. :) Also, a great big THANK YOU to mhmartini on Mediaminer (You're my first reviewer on the site, by the way, so thanks doubly for restoring my faith in MM) and Starry Pink and mebh on FF. I love you guys…/girls.**

Theme 17: Scars

Lying to Myself

_Six years after the Führer's Unfinished Speech_

_1:22A.M., Führer's Mansion_

_Bedroom of the Führer and his Wife_

External scars were worse than internal scars.

At least, that was what she told herself every time she saw one of his scars.

There was one on his hand from when he was a child – from an accident with a piece of twisted metal. He refused to talk about it until one of his sisters had threatened to tell her.

Then there was one on his calf. That one came from Ishbal, and it wasn't alone in its origin. It was just the most noticeable.

There was also a huge twisted scar on the left side of his stomach. It, and its twin on his back, were both earned by his fight with the Homunculus Lust.

External scars were worse than internal scars.

The homunculus's scars never failed to make her shudder, to move a bit closer to him. The echo of that anger and hollow pain was frightening to her. She had lost her calm, but… She had almost lost him that day; it was almost too much to bear.

But the worst scars – the worst scars were in his chest. One ran across his right pectoral and down his front. The other was a circular shape just below the beginning of the first. Her hand traced the diagonal scar idly, her mind flashing, for the briefest of moments, to _that_ day.

"**ROY!"**

_Bang! Bang, bang, bang!_

"_Oh my God!"_

He grimaced and stiffened in his sleep, abruptly wrenching her from her remembered daylight nightmares. She watched him carefully, hoping he would relax and sleep peacefully. No such luck. He grunted, then: "No… It's not… leave… alone… I can't… so sorry…no… _don't die_…"

She gently stroked his face, brushing his unruly hair back. "It's me, Roy. Everything's alright. Go to sleep." Sometimes that was all it took. Sometimes.

But not this time. The dream continued, unaltered, and she reluctantly shook his shoulders, waking him. "C'mon, Roy."

His eyes flew open. For a moment he stared blankly past her. Then his clouded eyes 'focused.'

"Riza?"

"Yes, it's just me. You were having a bad dream."

"Oh."

"…What was it about?"

"… I don't really remember." She could tell he was lying. "Go back to sleep," he said quietly, gently kissing the heel of her hand. "It's fine."

He was lying. Again. She resisted the urge to touch one of her own scars, a clean line at her neck. She knew _exactly _what he had been dreaming about. It still gave her nightmares, too. _…the look on his face. The warmth began to seep out of her, and she had the terrible feeling that she was letting him down, that she'd been too weak…_

"Mm-hm," She snuggled closer to him, closing her eyes.

External scars were worse than internal scars.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

Times like tonight made it harder to believe that impossible lie.


	17. Chapter 17

Theme 16: Reaching Voice & Unstoppable with a Voice

_Several days after the Führer's Unfinished Speech._

_7:16 P.M. Central General Hospital, Military Branch_

_Floor 6, Room 611_

"Damn you, _damn you_, **damn you!**" Riza whispered. She might have cried, but she figured she had cried enough over the last few days. Now, she simply sat beside his hospital bed, back straight, hands folded demurely on her lap, because the windows were open, and there was not supposed to be anything between them. "Wake up, damn you!"

The doctors had told her that it wasn't a coma that he was under so many drugs, it was difficult to stay conscious. The doctors had told her that he'd woken up three times, and that he had been delirious from the pain medication when he had. She had told them that she needed to see it for herself.

Riza sighed. "You're really worrying everyone, you know that? Even Edward Elric came to ask if you were okay. You two would be great friends, if you didn't argue so much. Or maybe you are friends, at that. Why don't you stop being so contrary and wake up already?"

Nothing. He just lay there beneath the white hospital bed sheets. He actually looked quite peaceful; she hadn't realized just how much stress he had been in until now, when it was gone. "At least you're taking full advantage of your sick days."

She sat there at his bedside for a long time. She had to be one of the worst bodyguards in the history of the world. Everytime – _every goddamn time_ – he needed her to protect him, she failed, and he got hurt. She failed _every time. __**Every time!**_ She should resign, and go far away, so that he could get someone who could _actually _protect him. It would hurt her to leave. She didn't know if she could stand it. It would hurt him, too, but she was sure he would get over his infatuation. He would, he did it all the time. Leaving would destroy her, but she would do it gladly, because he'd be safer with someone who could do the job right.

Every time he needed her, _she failed_.

_She failed._

The room was quiet, except for the ticking clock. It ticked in time with her thoughts.

_Tic. Tock. Tic. Tock._

_I. Always. Fail. Him._

"Who's there? Where am I?"

Riza jumped, startled, at the sound of Roy's voice. His eyes were open. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling. She felt like crying all over again, but didn't let herself. It would have been so much easier to leave if he hadn't woken. So much easier.

"It's me, Roy, Riza Hawkeye. You're in the hospital."

"Riza?" He turned his head at the sound of her voice. "Where am I?" He sounded strange.

"In the hospital," she reiterated, worried.

"Why are you lying to me?"  
" What?" A cold hand of dread seemed to clutch around her throat, her heart. "What am I lying about?"

"Everything. Riza Hawkeye is dead. They cut her throat. And I don't know where we are, but it's not a hospital. Now, _tell me the truth_."

She had no idea how to respond. Sane Roy Mustang was bad enough; delirious Roy Mustang…. Fortunately, she had no chance to answer – Roy's entire attitude changed.

"Riza was so strong, so _beautiful_. Why'd they have to kill her? Why?" He sounded completely piteous, pathetic. "They didn't have to. They didn't. Are they just trying to torture me? 'Cause they did a good job. A real good job."

Riza still felt frozen, staring at him. What was he saying? It really didn't make much sense, unless… No, it couldn't be. It was just the drugs talking, that was it, the drugs…

Roy's demeanor changed again. She was going to have a headache from how fast he was switching. "Riza, is that really you" He reached blindly for her.

"Yes, sir, it's me." She took his hand. He gripped it tightly. Then, quietly, "It's me, Roy."

"Good, I… You're thinking about leaving me, aren't you?" 

"Visiting hours are over at 8:3-, sir -."

"That's not what I meant. Don't resign. I need you _here_."

"Roy, I can't -."

"_Yes, you can._ We'll talk about it later, but do. Not. Leave. I couldn't stand it if you left like a ghost, without a word. I… need you… here…" With an exhausted sigh, he fell asleep. Riza stared at him, mouth agape, for a long moment. Then she gave him a small smile.

"Yes, Your Excellency. I will stay, for now. Rest, my friend."

The hospital staff was shocked when General Riza Hawkeye left the hospital at 7:45 with a smile on her face.


End file.
